Tired
by msfcatlover
Summary: Wheatley wakes Chell up in the middle of the night, and asks her an odd question. Android!Wheatley, mute!Chell, and Chelley.


Chell's first thought, as she woke up, was that something was touching her. Instinctively, she jerked her hand back, and fumbled for the portal gun, only to be brought up short by a cry of "Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to wake you, shouldn't have been… Your personal space, sorry…"

_Wheatley_. She sighed, and slowly relaxed, rolling over to raise a questioning eyebrow at the flustered robot. _What are you doing?_

He rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar blue blush darkening his face. "Sorry, it's silly, really. Don't know what came over me, I was just thinking, and, well… i-it's silly. Go back to sleep."

She shook her head. _No. I'm awake now, so you might as well tell me._

"Ah. Not going to give up, are we? No, no of course not… well it's just… it's, um, it's your hands."

She blinked. _What?_

"Silly, like I said, but, just bear with me here, because you can do so many things with them! I mean, we've known each other for, what, two weeks? And, and you've solved puzzles, and used portals, and put things together, and taken them apart, albeit a bit forcefully, on that last one, but that's not the point, anyway… You can push buttons, and open doors, and _do things!_ And mine, well…" He looked down at the offending digits with a frown. "Mine are just a mess, in comparison, aren't they? So, I was, um, wondering if there was something special about yours, and you were asleep, so… I shouldn't have taken advantage, though, and I _am_ sorry."

Chell sat up and looked at her hand. She couldn't see what was so special; it was just a hand, after all. Golden brown, like the rest of her, smudged with dirt and soot, broken nails, callouses that would never go away… What was the big deal?

"I know, you're probably thinking, 'What's Wheatley even talking about?' and, like I've said, it _is_ a downright silly thing to get so hung up on, but when have _my_ hands ever done any good? I mean, what kind of engineer programs you to be a butterfingers? Makes no sense at all, does it? Sort of like giving me legs, or a flashlight, and telling me I'll _die_ if I use them, I mean, what's the point? Why'd they give me things like hands and feet, if I wasn't going to use them? And even if I did, even if they expected me to have to use them one day, why not program them accurately? It's mad, really, downright, off-the-panels bonkers!" He nodded firmly, as though confirming something he'd long suspected.

She arched an eyebrow. The blush darkened a few shades.

"A-anyway, you were asleep, and I was just sitting here, keeping watch and everything, and there's not a whole lot to do when all you can do is sit in the dark and listen, because, after all, this is Aperture! By the time we see anything, it'll be too late. Assuming it's sent by Her, of course, because, obviously, if it's not, it's probably in the same condition we are, and won't really be up for a fight. Not against you, anyways! I'd probably be an absolute pushover, rather literally, with my vast ability for staying upright, you know." He smiled weakly. "Actually, maybe _that's_ the reason they told me I'd die if I ever unplugged myself and tried to walk! Because they knew I'd trip over my own stupid feet every five seconds. Slight exaggeration, of course, but still…"

Chell took a slow, deep breath. The thing about Wheatley was, despite being _wonderful_ company and a great friend, his designer had failed to place a 'disconnect' switch anywhere between his brain and his mouth. Which meant that, unless you constantly prompted him to stay on topic, he would very quickly ramble away from it, and stay there. And the more uncomfortable the conversation, the quicker he managed to change the topic.

She sighed.

"Oh, right! Sorry, sorry… so there you were, asleep, and there I was, bored out of my mind, but audio receptors on full alert, I assure you, so I started thinking about all, oh, all different kinds of things, and eventually got to the topic of how _differently_ our hands function. So I said to myself, 'Well, Wheatley, she probably won't mind if you take a _look_. I mean, pure curiosity, harmless!' But, erm, obviously you do mind, so, once again, just in case I haven't made it absolutely clear, I'm sorry. Terrible idea, really, won't do it again."

The other problem with Wheatley was that sometimes, somewhere in his rambling thought processes, he came up with something she'd never, ever have thought of. And once he got her thinking about it, even if she was pretty sure she knew the answer, so often she just couldn't stop thinking until she had one that would satisfy them _both_. He was sweet and fumbling and, admittedly, not quite "brilliant," and there was something about him that made her want to _help_. She looked at her own hand again, then across at his.

"Still," he muttered, "bloody _useless_, my hands. Maybe it's the skin." He flexed the mannequin-like, carefully sculpted digits, and sighed.

She had it.

The test subject reached over and grabbed his hand. Golden brown skin wrapped around white and black plastic. He stared at her, the blue lights in his eyes wide with surprise.

Chell smiled, laying back down next to her friend, still cradling his hand in her own. _Your hands are just another part of you, Wheatley: fumbling with new things, struggling to stick to a plan, maybe a little…_ She fumbled for a word, before remembering one he himself had thrown out once. _Maybe a little sparky. You're really expecting too much of them, not to mention yourself. Why don't you just cut all of you a break?_

She knew he couldn't understand what was going through her head (and she honestly did not have the energy to communicate it) but he seemed to catch the general meaning. A tiny smile flickered across his face.

"Yeah, maybe you're right luv. Just need some time, right? Like I said, silly thing for me to worry about. You go back to sleep, now. I promise I won't bother you again."

She yawned and nodded, closing her eyes. After a few seconds, she felt a small tug as he tried to free his hand. The young woman smiled, and tightened her grip.

* * *

><p>No one disturbs Chell's beauty sleep without <em>some<em> level of payback!

And mute!Chell this time. More in character that way.


End file.
